


Light Up The Dark

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Coping, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Found Family, Future Fic, Insecurity, Insomnia, Love Confessions, Mother's Day, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Redemption, Religious Tones, Self Care, Self-Esteem Issues, Whump, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: A drabble collection for the May Mental Health Whump challenge by newisalwaysbetter. Each chapter will feature a different aspect of self care and mental health, while exploring different Timeless relationships.





	1. Alone (Jiya and Garcia)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newisalwaysbetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/gifts).



> I'm really excited about this challenge. I think it's a brilliant idea, and Blue is wonderful for thinking of it. I can't promise I'll fill a prompt every day, but I'm going to try to fill as many as possible, because this really is such a lovely idea. 
> 
> I'm also unofficially going to try to focus on platonic relationships as much as possible, although knowing me, I'm sure some Garcy will sneak in eventually, along with the possibility of WyJess and Riya. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we usually write as if Rufus would be rescued immediately after Chinatown, but I wanted to explore a different possibility with this chapter: What if it took a lot longer? How would Jiya cope?

One year.    
  
It has been a year since Rufus died, and even though every moment has been desperately, unbearably lonely, all she wants right now is to be alone.    
  
Her friends mean well, she knows. Gentle "How are you"s and countless hugs, words of reassurance that they will find him again, and from all of them, the offer to talk about it.    
  
She doesn't want to talk about it.    
  
Just when she thinks she might suffocate from their nearness, or shout, or cry, he appears at her side, catching her arm in a gentle but firm grip, tugging her away from the group.    
  
She is either too puzzled to resist, or simply too drained. (Even she does not know which.)    
  
He guides her to his room, opens the door, and gestures for her to step inside. When she does, he doesn't follow.    
  
Instead, he settles on the ground, leaning back against the door frame, and offers her a look that is far, far too knowing. (Of course he understands, she thinks. Although it isn't the same, not really; do any of them even know when his family died?)    
  
Wishing she could put her gratefulness into words, she simply nods, and he returns it.    
  
It is enough.    
  
She closes the door behind her, trusting him to stay outside. To keep watch. The others would have to force their way past him to get to her, and she knows he will not allow it. (Not that most of them are brave enough to try.) Then, she crawls onto his bed, pulls the covers over her head, and sobs.    
  
-   
He is still there when she finally emerges, but he no longer is a lone sentry. Lucy is curled into his side, Wyatt sits opposite him, and Mason rests against the wall. Denise, too, sits, though she has pulled up a chair. They all look to her, and she knows that they will scatter if she only says the word. (What Flynn has said to them, she dares not ask.)    
  
Tentatively, she settles in beside Flynn, leaning against his free shoulder. The others move as one, forming a protective circle around her, and she relaxes into their arms.   
  
Yes, she needed to be alone for awhile, to isolate herself and her grief, to deal with it by herself.    
  
For awhile.   
  
But not forever.


	2. Guilt (Jessica and Garcia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's holding a Bible when she finds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping day two, because I couldn't write something I liked for that one. This is for the day three prompt, "Guilt." This chapter was interesting to write, and I'm a little nervous to publish it. I'm fairly open in talking about my faith, but I haven't really explored it in fanfic since I was a 12 year old girl writing painfully perfect angel OCs and dramatically converting canonically atheist characters. ... I was an interesting child.
> 
> Anyway, I hope this has a little more nuance than those fics, and that you all enjoy reading it. The great thing about writing for Timeless is that many of the characters are shown to have some level of faith, so that's something available to explore.

He's holding a Bible when she finds him. 

Not opening it, not reading it, just holding it in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn leather. His expression is distant, and she's not quite sure he knows she's there. 

“Are you…” She does not know how to ask. “Do you believe that?” She points to the book.

He laughs quietly, but doesn't startle, and she knows he must have been aware of her after all. 

“I don't know,” he admits. “Lorena did. Never doubted, even for a second. And I…” He hesitates. Perhaps remembering who she is, and that he does not talk about his family around her. “I like the idea,” he says finally. “Of something… More. Of them still being out there, somewhere. And…” His eyes close. “Of absolution.” 

She cannot quite say why it is him she has come to, this sleepless lonely night. Wyatt is just down the hall, and she knows that with a single word he would take her back. She does not deserve it, but it is true. 

But something tugs at her, a feeling of incompleteness, as though she has read a book but skipped the last page. She needs something from Flynn, and she doesn't know what. 

“Absolution,” she echoes. “Do you think that's an option for people like us?” 

He looks up at her sharply, and for a moment, she thinks he will protest being compared to her. For all the things he has done, after all, he has never been loyal to Rittenhouse. 

In the next instant, the fight drains from him. “Lorena did,” he repeats. 

Brief memories flash through her mind, of childhood Sundays listening to Bible stories and making crafts. Rittenhouse never took her, of course, but before that, her parents did. Back then, the idea of all of her sins being forgiven was abstract, and seemed more like a phrase she had to hear in order to get her animal crackers. 

Now… She swallows, stepping a little closer to him. “Are you… Going to read?” 

He hums. “Thinking about it.” 

“Can I…” What right does she have to ask this? To intrude on this moment at all? But it is too late to back out. “Join you?” 

A thousand emotions flicker across his face, and she is ready to walk away, to apologize for trying to take some of his solace for her own, when he nods. Gestures for her to take a seat beside him. 

With a shuddering breath, he opens the book. 

 

_ “...and forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us.” Matthew 6:12  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think, because I love hearing from you guys.


	3. Change (Wyjess)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has always been the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I missed a few days because of finals, but finals are over!!! This is for the day ten prompt: Change

It has always been the other way around.

She's lost count of the times Wyatt has come home at three in the morning, with apologies she doesn't want and promises she cannot trust. "Please, give me one more chance," he begs, and every time, she caves. Last time, she promised herself she wouldn't. Never again.

But this is not that Wyatt. 

This man has lived a different life, with no memory of how miserable and lonely the last six years have been for her. 

(And even at his worst, Wyatt was never the monster she knows she is, has never worked for someone like Rittenhouse. Not willingly, anyway. Not knowingly.) 

Now, she can hardly meet his eyes. 

The details are different: She does not reek of alcohol, and he has not been waiting up for her. 

And yet. 

"Please." She can hardly force the words out. But for him- _ for their child-  _ "I can change. Just give me one more chance." 

This Wyatt is not that Wyatt. He has only had to beg her forgiveness once, and that debt was repaid the first time he saved her life after her betrayal. He has no reason to let her in.

She fixes her gaze on his shoelaces, and counts his uneven breaths. 

_ One. _

_ Two. _

His arms envelop her before she reaches three.

_ "Jess." _ How can he still sound like that? So full of awe and hope and desperation, so loving- "I've  _ missed _ you." 

Her silent tears wet his shirt, and they do not let go for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	4. Date (Denise and Lucy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy makes an impulsive decision to celebrate Mother's Day, the only way she knows how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around with several different ideas for this one, before it finally occurred to me. I love my parents, but I also know that my honorary parents (my pastor and his wife) have made such a difference in my life, and I wanted to give special respect to all of the stand-in parents who have helped their honorary kids through the struggles of mental health. And of course, Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers, both by blood and by heart. 
> 
> Bit of background Garcy, but the main focus in on Lucy and Denise.

This is stupid. 

Her hands shake, and she forces herself to breathe, even as her mind screams at her. This is childish, they're fighting a war, they don't have time for this... And she can't bake anyway. What was she thinking? 

(Of course, Garcia helped her, hadn't even questioned her when she'd asked, so at least it's probably edible, but still.) 

The cake is a little lopsided, and the icing flower is smeared from her accidentally bumping into it. This whole thing is a mess, she's a mess, and she wishes she'd never thought of this. 

"Lucy?" Denise's voice is behind her, far too close; when did she get there? "Flynn said you wanted to see me." 

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up inside her, and she fiercely swallows it down. Of course he did. He was probably just trying to be helpful, but now she's not sure she even wants to do this, and-

A solid hand settles on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine!" She spins around, forcing a cheerful smile, careful to keep the cake hidden from view. "I was just thinking about... Things. Dates, and stuff." 

"Dates?" Denise quirks a brow. "I'm still not letting you and Flynn take the Lifeboat out for dinner in Paris, if that's what you're hoping." 

That is... Oddly specific, and Lucy makes a mental note to ask Garcia about it later. It's also a little embarrassing. "No, no, not like that," she clarifies. "Just. Dates. Like today. It's... You know?" 

Denise's expression says no, she really does not know. 

Ugh. 

The next words come out in a rush. "It's Mother's Day. And since my mom is dead, and, you know, evil, I just thought-I just wanted to-" Her face is burning. Denise's eyes soften a little, and it's too much. Lucy ducks away. "Cake," she finishes lamely, stepping aside and gesturing to her silly gift. 

For several seconds, there is only silence, as Denise takes in the shaky scrawl across the top of the cake: _"Happy Mother's Day, Denise!"_

Lucy fixes her eyes on the stove, studying a grease stain fiercely. Anything to avoid Denise's eyes, to avoid seeing the laughter there. What was she thinking? Denise has kids of her own, a family of her own. She doesn't need her broken, confused employee to make things weird and awkward just because she showed her a tiny bit of kindness. 

Finally, Denise exhales slowly. "Oh, _Lucy_." Her voice is thick, but Lucy hardly registers it. All she can do is brace herself, because whatever happens, she refuses to cry. 

The arms around her are sudden and unexpected, holding her close.

Oh. 

She leans against the top of Denise's head, clinging in return. Well, there goes not crying, she thinks, as a few tears fall down onto dark hair. 

Denise pulls back, looking her over with impossible tenderness. "I love you," she says simply. "You do know that, right?" 

And there it is. 

Lucy shatters, and Denise draws her back in, rubbing circles on her back. "You're alright, sweetheart," she murmurs, again and again. "You're alright. I've got you." 

(The cake is not half-bad, they discover, and it's made better with company. Others eventually filter in, each with some kind of handmade gift or card, and she realizes that she is not the only one who has found more than a boss in Denise. Mason quips that he expects the same treatment for Father's Day, and Lucy tunes them out, stealing a glance at Garcia. 

His eyes sparkle in the artificial light, and it hits her that he knew exactly what he was doing when he pointed Denise her way.

She smiles.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed! (The line to give Lucy a big hug starts behind Denise, if you're interested.)


	5. Sleep (Garcia & The Team)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some unenlightened people might say he isn't coping, but he knows better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I actually haven't abandoned this project! I know, I know. It's been sitting here for a long time, but I'm still plodding away at it. I'm not promising a ficlet a day or anything, but I really enjoy writing for this prompt set, so I want to keep going.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter has a bit of Garcy, but it's mostly just a lot of Flynn feelings. Enjoy!

They all find ways to cope. 

After Jessica's betrayal, and Rufus's rescue, sleep doesn't come easily for any of them. Every sound, every footstep, every shadow seems to speak of danger and loss. 

Jiya starts sleeping closer to the door, so that any intruder would have to go through her to keep Rufus safe. This seems to calm both of them, and help them through the nights. 

Wyatt takes to sleeping on the couch, surrendering his room to Lucy, because no one could steal the Lifeboat without waking him. (And he does not have to sleep with the lingering scent of Jessica's perfume.) 

Connor swaps rooms with Flynn, so that Rufus and Jiya are right next door. That way, he can hear if anything goes wrong. Denise upgrades the security codes. Lucy starts sleeping with a gun by her bed, one she insists on learning how to use. 

And Flynn…

Flynn doesn't sleep. 

He does hourly security checks, pacing the grimy floor, and only dozes when it is absolutely necessary. (And then, only an hour at most.) And sure, it makes him a little short-tempered, but that's easy enough to blame on Rittenhouse, or time travel, or Wyatt chewing with his mouth open. 

(Some unenlightened people might say he isn't coping, but he knows better. It's the only way he can feel peace, can know that they're okay, and he's fine, it's fine, he needs this, and it isn't like it's really hurting anyone…) 

-

The first thing he's aware of is his head, pounding miserably. Then, the cold floor under his back. He opens one eye slowly, weakly, and winces. The whole team stands over him, staring down with varying levels of worry and frustration. Lucy's eyes, he cannot help but notice, are red and glassy. 

“What happened?” He searches his memory, looking for some clue that might help him answer his own question, but comes up short. The last thing he can remember is walking around, doing yet another check. 

“You passed out.” Lucy's voice is ice. It slices right through him. 

“Well, that's embarrassing,” he quips, but she does not smile. 

Agent Christopher steps in, expression grim. “How long has it been since you've slept?” 

“Just a few seconds.” He hopes she will let it go at that, because he very much does not want to answer. They don't understand, they could never, and-

“Before that.” 

Closing his eyes, unable to stand the weight of their stares, he sighs. “I don't remember.” 

There is a stunned silence, and he savors it, because he knows that they will eventually find their voices. He cannot handle their judgement, their disappointment. Rittenhouse murdered one family, and he spent months blissfully unaware that he was sharing breakfast with one of their agents. He could have lost another family, all because he wasn't alert enough. 

He won't let that happen again. 

Agent Christopher draws in a breath, and he braces himself, but no words come. After a long second, a whiff of shampoo hits him, and he knows that Lucy must be kneeling beside him. Her hand settles on his shoulder, gentle and firm. 

“Come here.” 

He looks up at her uncertainly, marveling at the novelty for a moment. Normally, he towers over her. “I…” But he cannot argue, not with her. Not when her eyes are pleading with him to trust her, to follow her wherever she goes. 

Standing is a slow, painful affair, but Lucy steadies him, guiding him up. Finally, shakily, he follows her. The others stay close, ready to catch him if he falls, and he does not know whether to be mortified or grateful. 

She leads him to that old, decrepit couch, and he is thankful that she does not try to go farther. His knees seem seconds away from giving out underneath him. She settles at one end of the couch, and gestures for him to lay down. 

Across her lap. 

He hesitates for all of a second before giving in, the fog in his brain too thick to fight through, to remember all of the reasons he does not deserve this. Immediately, her fingers are in his hair, draining the tension from him. 

“I just want to protect you,” he murmurs, because he needs her to understand. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the rest of the team settling on the floor, forming a protective wall in front of the couch. “All of you.” 

“We know.” She presses a feather-light kiss to his forehead, and he nearly breaks. “But it's our turn to protect you. Okay?” 

And so, at last, he sleeps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	6. Puzzle (Connor and Denise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Agent Christopher who gives him the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in two days? Will wonders never cease?
> 
> On a serious note, this chapter focuses pretty heavily on Mason's alcoholism, so fair warning there. Shoutout to the wonderful Belle (only-freakin-donuts) for doing a read-through for me!

It's Agent Christopher who gives him the book.    
  
_"101 Crossword Puzzles."_   
  
He has been spiraling, suffocating from boredom, feeling utterly useless. It's been months in this bunker, months of watching the others travel and longing for something to do. But Rufus and Jiya can handle the technical aspects; frankly, he seems rather in the way when he tries to help. The student truly has become the master, and all that. And he's no soldier, no historian, so he doesn't have much to offer.    
  
To block out the constant humming in his mind, he drinks.    
  
It dulls his thoughts, but does little to improve his mood. He wakes up nauseous, sleeps for hours on end, and loathes himself a little more every day. Once, he was a genius. Now? He's just a tired alcoholic, and anyone can see it. (Rufus can see it. Can see how he has failed him. That in itself is enough to make him take another drink.)    
  
So when Denise hands him the book, it baffles him. "What's this?" He drops it to the ground dismissively, flopping back onto the couch. Why Rufus and Lucy ever complained about this couch, he isn't sure. It's quite comfy, really. "I'm fine."    
  
"You're drunk," she corrects, gentler than he'd expect. "And I need your mind."    
  
Well, he's certainly awake now. "What?" Perhaps he has misheard. Or perhaps isolation has driven her to cannibalism. (In which case, he does not feel so guilty about his coping mechanisms.)    
  
She sighs. "I'm only going to say this once: You are one of the most brilliant minds of this generation."    
  
"Sorry, what was that?" He asks, half to tease her, half because he's stunned. She is not, to say the least, overly generous with her compliments toward him.    
  
True to her word, she doesn't repeat herself. "We are fighting a war, Connor. We need all hands on deck. We need you with us. Understand?"    
  
Not really.    
  
"You don't need me," he mutters. "You've got... Rufus. Jiya. I don't-"    
  
"They don't know Rittenhouse like you do." And it isn't unkind, but it still stings, a vicious reminder of all he has done. "Besides.... We're worried about you." She crosses her arms, a warning not to laugh, but he wouldn't dream of it. He can hardly think, for a moment.    
  
"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm perfectly fine."    
  
It is, perhaps, the least-convincing lie he has ever told.    
  
To his surprise, she doesn't push. "Okay. Well, if you ever decide you're tired of just being fine..." She gestures to the book. "Something for that mind of yours to work on." Turning to walk away, she adds, "It'd be a shame to let it go to waste. And Connor?" She does not look back. "Rufus and Jiya miss you."    
  
He lays there for several more hours, drifting between sleep and awareness. Finally, he picks up the book.    


At the very least, it feels like a step in the right direction. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you guys: I finished this one the day it was supposed to be posted, but I wasn't happy with it. So I've fought it and fought it, and I'm still pretty unsure of it. I really hope you enjoyed, though!!!


	7. Touch (Garcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "’One, two, three’ means 'I love you!'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pure Garcy, guys. Enjoy a cross between fluff and pain! :D

_ "’One, two, three’ means 'I love you!'"  _

She could still hear her father singing the cheesy little song, taking her hand in one of his and Amy's in the other. It was their little game, something they always did. Carol always scoffed at it, and so it belonged to the three of them, a memory not tainted by her mother's darkness. 

Three short squeezes, no matter the setting, meant _ "I love you." _ And there was never a question that whoever squeezed would get the same reply. 

When she was little, it was just a game.

When she grew up...

She told Wyatt she loved him. Maybe not directly, but she sang the words to him in front of a crowd, and they both knew how much she meant them. 

With the way that ended, the way it crumbled to dust underneath her feet, she was more than a little reluctant to say it again. 

She did love Garcia, though. It took her a long time to accept it, to move past the things he did and her own painful history, but he patiently waited for her. From the first time she kissed him they were nearly inseparable, and she knew she needed to tell him how she felt.

But the words caught in her throat, twisted and bitter and afraid. They could shatter everything, could make everything fall apart, and she didn't want to lose him. 

So instead, she told him a story. 

It was obvious he didn't understand, even as he held her gaze, listening intently. He nodded in all the right places, and gathered her into his arms when the memories of her father and sister threatened to overwhelm her, but he did not understand. 

Not until later that night. 

They were watching "Desperate Housewives," her snuggled into his side, and she drew in a breath. Caught his free hand in her own. And squeezed three times. 

He froze. 

She didn't dare meet his eyes, just kept her gaze fixed firmly on the screen, as he processed. The wheels turning in her head were almost audible, and if she hadn't been so terrified, she might have smiled. 

Finally, he exhaled, and relaxed back against the couch. Pressed the softest of kisses to the top of her hair. 

_ Squeeze. Squeeze. Squeeze.  _

She turned her head, nuzzling into his shirt, and closed her eyes. She hoped one day she would be able to say the words aloud, but in the meantime, at least he knew. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!!


	8. Liquid (Jessica and Flynn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to my fic "The Solace of Tea." Jessica returns a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: Discussions of grieving/mourning a child. 
> 
> If you want to read the first part of this series, check out [The Solace of Tea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423066).

He's been off all day. 

Distracted. Short-tempered. Distant. (Even more than usual.)

The others have noticed, she knows; Wyatt has complained about it (albeit with a hint of concern he can't quite hide, not from her), Connor and Rufus have whispered about it, and Agent Christopher has watched him just a little too carefully. 

But none of them have said anything. 

Normally, this would be in Lucy's hands, or Jiya's on occasion, but the former is nursing a fever, and the latter is patching up Rufus after his latest scrape in the past. 

It is up to her.

She does not even know if he wants her comfort, and she will not blame him if he sends her away. Still, late that night, she pours two cups of tea. 

He's settled on the couch, staring at the television. Somehow, she doubts he is actually paying attention to the absurdly loud infomercial. 

Wordlessly,  she passes him a cup. 

It takes him several seconds to react, to turn and stare at her uncertainly. There is a question in his eyes she is not sure how to answer, so she doesn't.  

"It's chamomile," she says instead, and he slowly takes it from her. He doesn't drink, just clutches the cup between his hands like a lifeline. 

She will not ask questions. If he's willing, though, she will stay here all night, keeping him company until he can fall asleep. (After all, she owes him.)

For awhile, he simply stares into his tea. Then, quietly, he speaks. "All this time, I've been fighting, hoping to save my family someday." He gives a sad chuckle, and she nearly reaches for him. Nearly. Holds her own cup a little tighter instead. 

"Maybe you will," she offers, although she cannot summon much hope. This entire war hinges on him losing his wife and child, or so Wyatt has told her. 

He nods slowly. "Maybe." His tone makes it clear that he has had the same thoughts as her. "But the thing is, I always pictured... Seeing them again. Picking my little girl up, like I always have. Today, I realized..." He coughs sharply, and looks away. It hits her that he is fighting off tears, trying to hide them from her. "She was five when I lost her. But now... She'd be eleven." Then, he clarifies: "Today, she'd be eleven." 

It all clicks into place, and her heart breaks a little more for him. "Flynn," she starts, not even sure what she's going to say, but he isn't done.

"I've missed half her life. Even if I save her..." He closes his eyes briefly. "I won't be the man she remembers. I won't... I won't ever be her father again." 

She cannot even begin to imagine. 

“You’ll always be her father,” she says, because she knows it is true. If Iris Flynn comes back tomorrow, she will be loved beyond belief. She may not understand why her father doesn’t remember so much, but she will know without a doubt that he loves her. 

It must be nice, knowing your father loves you, she muses. 

Rather than answer, he takes a sip of the tea. It must be cold now, but his lips curl up slightly, and some of the tension drains from him.

“Thank you for this.” He raises the cup slightly. “And the… Listening.” 

She is not altogether sure how helpful she has been, but she nods all the same. “Just returning a favor.”

He once helped her through her nightmares. Now she can help him through his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I love this dynamic so much.


	9. Anew (Garcy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning falls quietly, without fanfare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I haven't abandoned this. I'm just updating very slowly.

Morning falls quietly, without fanfare.

It often does, these days.

The sun is barely creeping through the blinds, leaving shadows in all corners of the room. She doesn't mind. The fear of Rittenhouse hiding in every dark place has long faded, chased away by the stubborn warmth of life.

She is alive now, perhaps moreso than ever before. Before Rittenhouse, she was a puppet, dancing to her mother's tune. During the war she became a survivor, making it from day to day. Now, at last, she can live.

The arm around her waist tightens, and her husband nuzzles into her shoulder. "You're being too loud," he mutters.

She laughs, drawing a hand through his hair, still damp from his shower the night before. "I'm not saying anything," she points out.

"Thinking too loud. It's too early for this." He wraps his other arm around her, pulling her impossibly closer. "Sleep."

She considers. It's Saturday, so Henry and Maria don't have school. Henry has practice later, but Amy promised to give him a ride. They don't have work. Really, there's no reason she can't catch a few more hours of sleep.

No Rittenhouse to steal away her peace with blaring alarms and history at risk.

She curls into him. "Wyatt said Sherry has started asking questions," she murmurs. "About how we all met. What our mission was."

He hums. "Henry asked me last night." A pause, then- "Think they're ganging up on us?"

Knowing them, it's definitely possible. "I'll call Jiya. See what they're telling Connor. We can..." Her train of thought is briefly derailed by him tilting his head up, pressing the softest of kisses to her lips. "... Coordinate."

"Later." Another kiss, then a third, all feather-light. "We need sleep." He presses his forehead to hers for a moment, as if he could will her to cooperate if he focuses hard enough.

She cannot help but tease. "You're getting lazy in your old age." Even as she says this, she pushes him flat on his back, and rests her head on his shoulder.

He chuckles, unrepentant. "Absolutely. Isn't it great?"

There is something she should say to this, but the warmth and safety surrounding her is a lullaby, pulling her under. Yes, she supposes they can sleep a little longer.

The world can wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	10. Release (Garcia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorena would understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Flynn-centric, but there is a bit of Garcy, just because I had to do it. Anyway, I'm still here, still working my way through this... Very slowly!

Lorena would understand.

He knows this down to his bones, even as some terrible part of his mind taunts and shames him. Lorena was good, kind, and decent, wiser than he had ever hoped to be.

And beautiful. Oh, she was beautiful. Not just to look at-though she was-but to listen to. To talk to. Just to be with. She brought soft beams of light to his miserably dark existence, and he was drawn to her from the start. 

He should not compare, but he cannot stop thinking of Lucy: The way she burst into his life, not with gentle rays but with fire unleashed. Dangerous, crackling with energy, weathered from wars won and lost. 

This Lucy-his Lucy-has yet to become that yet, but already the fire burns behind her eyes.

Not better. Not worse. Just different. 

And yet, in ways, so very alike.

The bridge isn't quite steady beneath him, and he takes each step slowly, trembling. From fear? From the cold, seeping through his thin jacket, clinging to his skin? From the weight of what he's about to do? It's hard to say.

This isn't just for Lucy. Not really. She could reject him, and it wouldn't change a thing. 

It's for himself. For his peace of mind. His family is gone, and he is far too wise to believe that he could save them. The whole of this war hinges on their deaths; he sees that now, and as much as he would love to let the world burn for them, he can't. Not anymore. 

The ring sticks when he slides it from his finger. He has to finesse it off, carefully maneuvering it into his palm. 

For awhile he just holds it, letting the cool metal rest in his hand. Then, he draws in a breath. 

Holds his hand out over the water.

And lets go.

The golden band hits the water with a _'plop,'_ leaving ripples in its wake as it sinks. 

Nothing happens. Funny; it seems like the bridge should collapse from under him for daring to do something so permanent. His last tie to his family is at the bottom of a lake in 1837, and there is nothing he can do to change it.

It's terrifying and liberating all at once, and he cannot help but remember the day he put it on for the first time. This feeling, here, is similar: A leap into the future, blind and afraid, but exhilarating all at once.

A noise slips from his mouth that might be a laugh or a sob, though it is hard to say. Then he leaves the bridge, the lake, the ring behind, and returns to the dusty cabin. 

Lucy, of course, sees him first, and he does not bother to deny the way it warms him inside. She offers him a gentle smile, looking up from her dinner. "You okay? You were out there for awhile." 

"Yes, yes," he assures her quickly, because the last thing he wants to do is worry her. "I was just... Taking care of something." 

She accepts this without question, but her eyes are a little too sharp. So he reaches over, plucking a roll from her plate. The tension fades from her face, replaced with a delightful laugh that curls around him like the warmest blanket, even as she protests.

Later, he will tell her. 

Later, all the words he has crammed down will slip out, and she will have to decide what to do with them.

But just at the moment, he has taken enough leaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	11. I Exist (Lucy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's the only way she can breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Kind of! School has been crazy lately, but this has been sitting in my drafts for literal months, so I thought I'd share it with you all. It's for the prompt "Writing," and it has a hint of Garcy, but it's very Lucy-centric.

_ I exist. I exist. I exist. _

Sometimes, it's the only way she can breathe. She takes a pen in hand and scrawl on the page again and again, until her fingers are achy and stained. 

_ I exist. I exist. I exist. _

At night, she wakes up in tears, half-formed dreams lingering in her mind. She imagines walking out of her room and being met with blank stares and distrust, because time one again changed and she was the casualty. 

_ I exist. I exist. I exist.  _

Her chest is too tight, and she wants to scream, to wake the others and beg them to say they know her. But this is her problem, not theirs, and she does not want to trouble them. More than that, she needs to know that she can handle this without help, that she is strong enough to hold her own against the terrors in her head. 

_ I exist.  _

It's not the journal she's going to give to Flynn, but one he finds for her in a rundown antique shop in 1923. His eyes are too knowing when he hands it to her, but he only smiles. "Thought you might like this." 

She does not know how to thank him for knowing her better than she knows herself. 

_ My name is Lucy Preston, I have a sister named Amy, and I exist.  _

Finally, the moment passes. She looks down at the pages-four new ones this time-and takes a breath. Morning will come soon enough, and she will join the others for breakfast and tease Mason about his cooking, but for now, she can rest. It will be okay.

_ I exist. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


End file.
